I am sorry to keep you waiting: this gentlemen here seemed to take my hesitation as an opportunity to go for more beer. He will be drunk, I think, before the tale is over. – No, dear girl, that is not for the best. But where were we? Oh! the Golden Age of Camelot. How marvellous.

Camelot, indeed, was in a Golden Age, or so they had optimistically called it not long after the defeat of the witch Morgana, in the hope that the joy and splendour that had sprung up would last forever, or at least long enough to merit the title of age. For it seemed that the war was over; their deadliest enemy was gone, and they had made peace with all of the neighbouring kingdoms; their king was glorious, their government as perfect as a government can be (which wasn't saying much, as some people were keen to snidely point out). Merlin, too, had to admit that he had been caught up in this reckless positivity. He couldn't remember a time in Camelot when he had felt so light-hearted, not in his usual happy-go-lucky way, but in a fashion that felt as though a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. He had started singing absent-mindedly as he went about his day, a habit that annoyed Arthur immeasurably, so he hadn't made any attempt to stop. (He had seriously considered it, though, when one of the Court Musicians had offered to teach him to sing in tune.) But everyone was happy, the kingdom was booming, and it really seemed as if this Golden Age might hold.

Call him picky, but he was starting to get bored. Not that he wanted there to be all-out war. He had had more than enough of war to last a lifetime. But he wanted a change, at least, and that was why he was so interested in this book that Geoffrey had been so keen for the king to read. If nothing else, it might bring about a change from the humdrum routine of servitude and castle gossip. He knew everything there was to know about the love lives of the knights, the quarrels among the servants, the comings and goings of the kitchen cat. He wanted proper adventure. His feet itched.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait long for the answers to his questions, though they came in a less than favourable fashion. The morning after the events concerning the mysterious scroll, he was awoken by the voice of Gaius calling his name.

'Merlin?'

As was his wont when he was sure it wasn't yet time to get up, he stirred briefly, rolled over and pretended he was still asleep.

'Merlin, wake up! Arthur is asking for you.'

The voice of Gaius cut through Merlin's dreams like a particularly sharp scythe, much to his dismay. His sleep, the best he had had in ages – and the best he would have, no doubt, for weeks to come – had been punctuated by the most magnificently vivid dreams. The latest one, in which he had managed to turn Arthur into an array of strange creatures, faded; Arthur the toad dissolved from view and was replaced by Gaius's face. For a moment Merlin wasn't sure of the difference. He blinked. The room slowly came into focus.

'Hullo, Gaius,' Merlin yawned. 'What time is it?'

'You'd better go and find Arthur,' Gaius said, ignoring the question. 'He wants you promptly this morning.'

It was only when Merlin had jumped out of bed and pulled on his overclothes that he realised how dark it still was. Gaius had set a candle on his dresser, but he could hardly see anything.

'Gaius,' he cried, 'what time does Arthur call this? It's not even the morning yet!'

Gaius said something meaningless by way of explanation, and Merlin, grabbing a bit of bread for his breakfast, hurried out of the door.

Arthur was waiting for him in extreme impatience, and had got ready in such a hurry that he had got his trousers on back to front. Merlin decided not to comment. Probably that would backfire later, but he felt an apology was more pressing; he was also keen to ask what exactly merited getting him out of bed at this ridiculous hour.

'Rise and shine,' Merlin said, in a mocking sort of tone.

'Ah, you're here. We've got a lot to do. I need my armour preparing, my best sword sharpening, my cloak rinsing, it's still filthy after the hunt the other day –'

'At this time of night?' Merlin protested.

'We haven't got any time to lose,' Arthur finished, throwing a bundle of clothes in his direction. And, before Merlin could put any more questions to him, he swung from the room. His trousers were still on back to front. Merlin stifled a laugh and began to inspect the clothes he had been tossed; they were evidently for washing, so he put them aside, and strode over to the wardrobe, meaning to take out Arthur's cloak. Just as he opened the door, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the scroll that had so intrigued him lay open on the king's desk.

He knew that he would have to be told at least some of its contents eventually; therefore he went to the desk, bent over the paper and began to read.

It was in a language he understood, but only just. The yellowing borders of the page and the fading of the ink upon it bore witness to its age; once he had managed to decipher the scrawl, done in a clumsy and rather insistent hand, he found that its contents were deeply intriguing – if very peculiar. They told of a prophecy: it was convoluted, but, from what Merlin could make out, it said something about the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, and its restoration to the city.

Merlin frowned more than he intended to. He had never heard of the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, and he wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, given that this document seemed to imply that it was missing. After a moment he flattened the page with his hand and continued to read.

The prophecy started to ramble for a long time about the supposed powers of the Grail, and, as it became increasingly clear that this was an artefact imbued with extraordinary magical powers, Merlin's curiosity was heightened. Unfortunately for his comprehension, the language started to become more and more florid – whether because of its antiquity or because the author was a terrible snob, he couldn't tell – and when he had finally reached the end of the script, his eyes worn out by deciphering its swirls, he sat for a moment almost in shock, before perceiving the shadow that had fallen across the desk, and realising that Arthur had re-entered the room without him noticing.

'I was going to explain everything later,' said Arthur: 'and my cloak is still dirty.'

'Sorry, sire.'

Merlin crossed the room, and picked up the offending the cloak; then, going over to the basin in the corner, he said:

'You'd think if Camelot was on the brink of collapse, we'd have noticed something by now.'

Arthur drew a breath, as if to reply, but found no words, and returned to whatever he was doing – admiring his reflexion in his sword, apparently.

'I know people like to talk about the "good old days" and all that,' Merlin continued, critical, 'but I don't think they ever actually existed.'

'Evidently we have been on a cliff-edge without realising,' said Arthur simply.

'Do you believe this prophecy, then?'

Arthur nodded.

'All of it?'

Arthur visibly hesitated before nodding again.

'What, you think a frankly dangerously magical object is directly linked to Camelot's welfare?' Merlin said, ironically.

'The document says,' said Arthur after a moment, 'that the Grail was forged in and for Camelot, long before the Purge, when the first king sat on the throne. Nobody knows if it was used for good or evil by the early kings, but the theory is that it is part of the city, and that its removal will have a detrimental effect.'

'But it hasn't been in Camelot for centuries,' protested Merlin, 'if this document is to be believed.'

'Then maybe we don't realise how great Camelot is supposed to be.' Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who was half-heartedly washing the cloak whilst watching his friend's expressions attentively. 'Look. I thought it sounded ridiculous, but frankly Geoffrey is a lot more versed in Camelot lore than I am, and he was very serious about the apparent threat posed. I'm not superstitious, and I don't think Geoffrey is either. The issue is that far stranger things have happened, and the safety of my people is my highest priority. If there is any potential of a threat, it is my duty to Camelot and to my people to look into it.'

'And that merits getting me up at some ridiculous hour?' Merlin said, trying to joke. Arthur scowled, which just made Merlin more insistent. 'Shouldn't you make plans? Research things? Do you know where the Grail is at the moment? How to get to it? Who has it?'

'She's called Viviane and she lives in the Frankish kingdoms.'

Merlin looked rather startled.

'Well, we don't know that for sure, but all accounts seem to think it's her... So if we head for Brocéliande Forest...'

'Is that nearby, or –?'

'It's not the other side of the world.'

Merlin had folded his arms and was looking at Arthur very sceptically. For a moment he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to be reacting. It all felt like some elaborate prank that Arthur was trying to play on him, except that Arthur was a terrible liar, and therefore hopeless at pranks.

In this awkward hiatus, the King went over to his bed and picked up his belt; then, at last discovering the mishap with his trousers, he began to redress himself, properly this time. At length he said: 'I'm only taking a few men. This quest must not reach the ears of the people. I'm calling it an official visit to Deira.'

'That's in the opposite direction,' Merlin could not help but comment.

'Nobody will notice.'

'Who's going?'

'I am,' said Arthur, 'so you will obviously accompany me. I'm going to choose five or six knights of the Round Table, and possibly their squires.'

'And that's it?'

'That's it.'

'Isn't this a... very important mission?'

'It is, but we can't make a big thing of it until it's complete... What if the people come to learn that an object vital to Camelot's welfare has been in the hands of the Franks since time immemorial? Can you imagine the uproar?'

Merlin had to concede that he could very much imagine the uproar, and that he perfectly understood the king's reasoning, even if it did seem as if he might be putting himself and some of the kingdom's best men in danger. The one part he didn't understand was the suddenness of it all.

'This all seems very rash,' Merlin put in. 'How do we know that this document isn't a fake, or a trap, or something?'

'Geoffrey has compared this report with a number of other histories. The Grail itself is little mentioned, and its powers are, outside of this text, obscure, but it seems that the facts add up. I trust Geoffrey to have done his research.'

Arthur made this point by gesturing vehemently with his belt-buckle, before stopping to adjust the aforementioned belt around his waist. Despite everything, Merlin had finished washing the cloak, and, in the absence of any other orders, made to go and look at the scroll again. Arthur watched him, almost hesitantly; then, breaking an awkward and lengthening silence, he said:

'Getting out of Camelot for a few weeks will do me good. The whole business lately with the taxes is getting out of hand. Gwen knows more about the sentiment of the people than me. I think they'll be glad if she handled it in my place.'

'This isn't going to be a holiday, Arthur!' Merlin spluttered. 'The Frankish kingdoms aren't exactly peaceful – and it'll involve a sea-voyage – and meeting with a witch to reclaim a highly magical object is hardly going to be a picnic.' He looked sideways at the king. 'Unless you've made it all up to get out of sorting out the economy –' Arthur began to object, so he added: 'I think you're just being overly superstitious.'

'I'm putting my people first. What if Camelot falls without this Grail? I'm hardly risking anything to confirm the legend, compared to what I would risk if I ignored the threat.'

Once again, Merlin had to admit that Arthur had a point. Yet something was still niggling at him, and for some reason he couldn't quite place it, until at last his eyes fell upon a phrase or two on the scroll, and, enlightened, he said:

'The Grail is magical... and you don't trust magic.'

This stopped Arthur in his tracks: not because he had not considered this factor, but because he very much had, and it was still weighing upon him; he did not meet Merlin's eye. The room seemed charged all of a sudden. The king felt an unbidden frown crease his face, and, still without turning, he said:

'No, I don't.'

'Then –'

'That is why we are going to tread very carefully.'

'That's your security procedure?'

'What do you suggest?'

'Well... not going, and seeing if anything bad happens?' Merlin said in an ironically revelatory sort of tone. 'I just think you need to sit down and think about it a bit –'

'Well, I don't, and I'm the king,' replied Arthur, very finally.

It was a poor excuse, and Merlin might have pointed this out, but it didn't much seem as if Arthur was listening to him. Merlin himself began to think over the matter; the first thing that came into his head was that he had wished for adventure, and that he was about to get it, and that you shouldn't wish for things, lest they come true. He wondered if this was his destiny catapulting him once again into something inevitable. He couldn't be certain of it, but it certainly felt as if something important was on the horizon: and much as he hated having to obey the fates and endanger himself that Arthur might tread his path to glory, he knew that he couldn't really refuse to act.

It was at times like these that he wished Kilgharrah were still in Camelot: the Dragon had been infuriating, yes, but it had been satisfying to have someone to vent to. The Dragon had at least listened to him; Arthur was as good as a brick wall, and anyway, it wasn't possible to tell Arthur all that was on his mind. The whole magic business would have been a step too far, at least.

What, then, were Arthur's thoughts? He must have disapproved of the matter. Knowing that Camelot's welfare rested upon some ancient magical artefact was a blow to a king who had for so long opposed magic as a force for evil. Having said that, it wasn't that long since magic had last been allowed in Camelot, and it was possible that Arthur was painfully aware of his predecessors' trust of the art. At any rate, he knew that he was less powerful than magic, else he would have nothing to be afraid of. So it was in his best interests to ensure that Camelot did not collapse through his own negligence.

What was the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, anyway? That was the biggest sticking-point. Merlin had never heard of it – Arthur had never heard of it – Geoffrey, if he knew anything about it, had never mentioned it. Was it really so important?

Merlin gave up. He couldn't get any further for the moment, and Arthur was being more of a brick wall than ever: therefore he resolved to try to save his curiosity until later, and when he returned home he would ask Gaius about it. If anyone knew what was going on or what he ought to do, it was him.

'Have you ever heard,' said Merlin that evening, over a bowl of questionable, but comfortingly familiar, stew, 'of the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot?'

Gaius furrowed his brow a moment, thinking. Then at length he said: 'The Calix Cameloti regni?'

'Come again?'

'The Calix Cameloti is a legend – an obscure one, but a legend nonetheless –' Gaius pushed his spectacles up his nose. 'Why?'

'Oh, just something Arthur mentioned,' Merlin said offhandedly, watching his mentor's expression. 'Apparently it's quite important. Something to do with the welfare of the city?'

Gaius raised one eyebrow and said nothing for a few seconds. His eyes strayed towards his bookcases, as if he could read the books just by looking at them. 'It was a tale I once heard. I can't remember where from. You know that there was magic involved in the building of Camelot, and that Cornelius Sigan had a hand in it.' Merlin nodded, and frowned. 'Cornelius Sigan was expelled from the Court; we don't really know what happened. But he was of course succeeded by other powerful magicians. The legend says that three of them captured the soul of Camelot, and built an impenetrable vault beneath the city in which to keep it.'

'The soul of Camelot?' Merlin said incredulously.

Gaius waved his hand. 'It was probably a fairy-story. It certainly seems that way. But the legend goes that they also crafted an artefact – a Grail – to hold it, for at first the soul was formless and volatile. But once it was captured it imbued the Grail with magical powers such as have never been seen in Camelot before or since. Nobody knows what it could do, besides protecting Camelot. It was sealed in the vault, the location of the vault was kept secret, and since then it has apparently just been sitting there guarding the city.' He pushed his spectacles up his nose. 'I haven't heard anyone mention the story in a while, though all of the old stories involving magic haven't been in circulation for several years now, of course.'

'So you think it's just a fairy-story?' said Merlin.

'It's a legend, or a myth, at best.'

'What if it were true?'

Gaius stopped eating, and looked up at him. 'Does Arthur think it is?'

'Oh!' Merlin cried, 'he's absolutely convinced it is.'

'Curious.'

'And –' Merlin hesitated, and lowered his voice. 'Geoffrey gave him a document saying that the Grail hasn't been in Camelot for centuries, and that it needs to be restored sooner rather than later or the kingdom will collapse.'

'Geoffrey found a document –' Gaius frowned. 'What is this document?'

Merlin explained, briefly, what Arthur had told him, and what he had read of the mysterious scroll; during his narration, he watched Gaius's eyebrows disappear into his hair, and when he had finished, the old physician leaned back and did a good impression of being entirely astonished.

'And that,' said Merlin, 'is why he wanted me so ridiculously early this morning. He's been cramming the whole day with preparations. I wouldn't be surprised if he was saddling the horses as we speak. If we set out tomorrow at dawn, you'll know where we've gone.'

'This seems very rash of him.'

'You have no idea! I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Arthur.'

Gaius took his last spoonful of dinner, set down his spoon and stood. 'I'll try to talk to him. I don't know much about this Grail, but I do know that such a journey will require a lot of thought. I must also talk to Geoffrey, as well; if anyone knows what is going on, it will be him.'

When Merlin went to bed that evening (quite early, admittedly, given the time at which he had been woken up), Gaius still had not returned; and his dreams when at last he fell asleep so vividly featured a morning cavalcade, a succession of fields and inns, and a shining Grail, that it took him a long while the next morning to realise that he had not in fact partaken in an entire Quest overnight.

The night is growing, and I really must stop. See, the room is empty but for us; you all look terribly tired, and my voice is raw. Let me rest, and I shall continue when my throat is ready for it. Do return, for I shall continue as soon as I possibly can.